The Bond
by ShadowSong StarGlaive The Wolf
Summary: A Bandopia fanfic. A shocking murder of an instrument tests the loyalties of the marchers of Bandopia. Can five new marchers discover what happened when one of them is the accused? Ch3 up.
1. Anew Again

A/N This is based off of Silmarwen Vanimedle's Bandopia fanfic, but if you haven't read it, well, you'll catch on quick, it's like marching band/fantasy crossover. Like, as if marching band were life (wait, it isn't just life? Nevermind then.). It'll be a fair bit different than my usual style, because it's written like hers.

Disclaimer: I do not own the idea of Bandopia or her characters that are in here. Just the main ones that I made up. )

(Bond)

It was the day that to-be marchers dreamed of- the Day of Choosing. The day when the instruments bonded with their marchers, and they became inseparable. The day when the notes were clear, and drumming steady, the low notes thrumming with precision. The day when the flag rested in the glove of the guard member and sang to it, or the day a vet finally took grip of that sabre and it hummed in their fingers.

The Day of Choosing.

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Blayde and Bolt were twins, and although they differed in genders, their looks could hardly be different. With raspberry-kissed blond hair and fair skin, completed with clear-sky eyes, they eagerly ran from their meadow dell to their parents, calling to them, "Today! Today!" whilst humming a bit.

Their parents, Slyde and Caeytch, watched them greet their other friends getting ready to head towards the long journey to the marching fields. Mostly girls with scattered boys, the guard children skipped, hopped, and laughed, filled with the joyous wonder of what could be.

Nigh 14, they were the perfect age to begin marching, and thrived in the wide-open meadows that allowed dancing, throwing, spinning, and other activities the guard often engaged in.

At last, it was time to go, and the children, along with assorted parents, began the walk to the marching fields. They did not use wagons or other modes of transportation- instead, they practiced their sashays, sautés, and other dance moves, whether it be showing off or just having fun.

"You seem so excited," said Caeytch, smiling at her husband as she did a leap in place. Her long auburn hair spun out behind her, catching the light.

"Well, I haven't seen any other trombones in… well, years," admitted Slyde. "I mean…"

"That's alright," she said, and pulled him along. "Come on! We're losing Bolt and Blayde." With that, they ran off to catch up their wayward children.

"Can you believe it?" asked Bolt, whipping around in the air, pulling on her brother's hand. "We're going!"

"It's great, isn't it?" murmured Blayde, the quiet one, with a half-smile on his face. He was always the water to her fire, the ice to her lava. Nothing was done without the other, and to join the Marching Band Guard together- that was a dream.

Another one of the guard children, Gawntlet, came up. "I heard some rumors," she giggled, always the gossip.

"What, what?" clamored the others, gathering around but still moving with jumps and twists. They were almost never stagnant- it just wasn't in their blood, just like harshness in the music wasn't in a flute's blood, or a heartbeat not in a drummer's taps.

"That there were going to be taking on first-season rifle and sabres!" cried Gawntlet, unable to keep it in. "Just think of it! You could be a rifle or sabre- _by the end of today!_"

Bolt squeezed her brother's hand tighter, joy surging in her chest. "Oh Sousa!"

Inside, Blayde was screaming with joy, but remained calm on the outside. However, a shimmer of ecstasy showed in his face. "A sabre…" he whispered, a flash of performance light in his eyes.

They continued on- they were almost there. The sun was bright, cloudless sky, cool but not too breezy, the perfect day.

The Day of Choosing.

As they crested the hill that led to the marching field, a fascinating sight met their eyes. The guard children stopped and stared in awe, while the parents fondly smiled- these were the days they remembered, the hours spent, the emotions swarming their souls, the music, everything.

Brass instruments glinted gold and silver in the sun, proudly displaying themselves. The woodwinds were glinting in pride, and the drums lay on the grass, their silent heartbeats waiting to be heard. The pit instruments shone like gems, the mallet fuzz swaying slightly in the breeze. Somewhere, a metronome clicked, and the general air was of happiness and glad hearts. Hundreds of people milled about, chatting, playing, spinning, everything involved in marching band, was going on.

"Slyde!" cried a voice from below the hill, and the man looked down to see his old marching friend, Flatt, was waving. "Great Sousa! Is that you?"

The two friends greeted each other, each waving towards their children, who were still staring in amazement.

"It's… better than I imagined," whispered Gawntlet. "It's like…" she trailed off. There were no words.

"Kids! Come meet Taen," said their father, motioning towards a dark-skinned girl, her hair tied back in ponytail, and in her hands was clasped a trombone- new, shiny, and begging to be played. "She'll be marching with you this year."

"I'm Bolt- this is Blayde," said Bolt, jumping to Taen.

"Doing guard? The section leader's over there," Taen said, pointing. "It's so amazing here!"

They agreed, and ran off to the group of girls who were tossing flags in the air, and then putting them down, trying out others.

One particular girl stalked around, her eyes alight with a fever. "Who's that?" asked Bolt to a taller girl casually spinning a rifle.

The girl followed the pre-teen's direction of focus. "That's Sabe. She's the captain this year. I'm Rifely. Interested in spinning?" she asked, then saw the thrumming excitement in Bolt's body. "Hm, you'll do. Pick up and spin- see if it's for you."

Bolt was about to pick up a red-silked flag when she saw her brother fingering a sabre, and Sabe intently watching him. Feeling a sense of protection aroused by her brother, she started heading his way when Sabe said, "Boy!"

Blayde didn't listen. He twisted the sabre in his hand, and then began to spin it, out of nowhere. And it flipped around in his hand- hilt, tip, hilt, tip, hilt-

"Boy!" she said again, and he started, dropping it. He quickly whipped around and said, "I'm so sorry, it just-"

"Spoke to you, hummed in your hand, told you- yes, yes, I know," cut off the girl, and she picked it up. "Interesting. Ever spun a blade before, boy? I need your name too."

"Blayde, and no, I'm sorry-" he said, but she held up a gloved hand.

"You've got something- Blayde? Hm, your parents are prophets. Your mother, Caeytch? She was a sabre as well. Good one, too, before she left with that trombone player." A trace of bitterness traced her words- Sabe was not fond of the other sections, rather closed off from the rest of the band. "You!" she said, and Bolt jumped a bit, but her alarm turned it irritation- who was she to boss around her brother and herself?

"Yeah?"

"Name."

"Bolt."

The words zinged back and forth, and Blayde watched nervously. He knew his sister was a lit firecracker at times like this- meeting a new, bossy person did not always go over well.

"Spin that flag. Just do it how you think it works, and I'll tell you're right." With that, Bolt picked up the red-silked flag, but then spotted a rifle nearby. It was newly taped, the whiteness bright in the light. The black plastic was glinting, and the tip was smooth and round. Something about it-

"I'd rather spin that." With those four words, she walked over, picked it up, gauged the weight, and started with her right hand at the small. Up, down, up, down, it went, just like her mother used to do at home, around it went, faster and faster, singing with thumping drums in the back in her mind, triumphant tones and brassy cries-

"Blayde, Bolt! What-" demanded Caeytch, rushing over. "You shouldn't be-"

"Let them," said Sabe, her eyes looking over to the twins absorbed in their equipment. A bit awkward- the blade was tilted, spinning at the 45 degree angle, and the rifle was uneven at best, but there was potential.

She looked at the Great Ones, atop their tower, and then scanned her gaze across the playing instruments, people tuning, drummer beating out heartbeats for the band, the pit adding the range of lows to highs to the band, and finally, her part- the twins spinning for the first time, absorbed- just like every other marching band person. "You remember what it's like."

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It was the day that to-be marchers dreamed of- the Day of Choosing. The day when the instruments bonded with their marchers, and they became inseparable. The day when the notes were clear, and drumming steady, the low notes thrumming with precision. The day when the flag rested in the glove of the guard member and sang to it, or the day a vet finally took grip of that sabre and it hummed in their fingers.

The Day of Choosing.

(End Story)

A/N And later I'll do different sections:D So, the first reviewer say their section and I'll write a chapter about a person getting their first trumpet, bass drum, flute, etc.


	2. Yet To Come

A/N Yay! Thanks to 'Matt loves band', this chapter will be about a trombone player getting his first instrument! This is fun for me because my friend in marching band plays the trombone, so I will grill her for info. Also, I'm thinking of extending this into an actual story, so the second reviewer, LittleMissTrumpetPlayer, who's instrument is obvious (it's clarinet! Haha! Just kidding! Haha! Sorry for the lame joke!) will be the fourth main character after Bolt, Blayde, the trombone player. And with Juliet and her baritone (which my brother plays, so I can question/interrogate him for info!) that makes up the main five! But keep reviewing anyway, it makes the author smile.

Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Bandopia, just my characters. Boy do they loathe that! Haha:cracks whip over band members: MARCH FASTER!

(Yet to Come)

Whilst Bolt and Blayde were getting gloves and equipment from Sabe (who was very pleased with them- rare for newbies) a young boy stood off to the side, his coppery hair flipping in the breeze. His cautious brown eyes scanned the area, searching for people he knew, but alas, none were there. No matter. He had an instrument in mind, ever since his family had left the mountains were the Brass resided to come here.

His father and mother had questioned Shaine about his choice of instrument, but he had refused to say- he wasn't stubborn or rude, just quiet. Now he moved within the people who laughed and moved about, while he was silent as a mourned friend's tomb.

Then he heard it- the low murmur of a baritone. Tilting his head up, Shaine caught another note, and headed towards it. Perhaps this was his instrument- the one that stood out yet blended in with the rest, murmuring low, strong. Turning around a group of chatting flutes, he saw a lean, bronzed and with a blond highlights in her black hair. She was instructing a boy his age with a baritone, the slide pumping through the air and the sunlight slipping around the brass curves.

"No, no, NO!" she said, waving her hand. "Try again!" Muttering to herself, Shaine thought he heard, "Great Sousa, I can't wait to get back to the veterans!"

"I can't do it!" complained the boy, who then dropped the baritone in the grass. "I give up!" He stomped away.

"Drop an instrument again and I'll beat you over the head with it!" she called after the frustrated newbie.

"I'll take it." Who said that? The voice was extraordinary like Shaine's.

Wait…

_Did I just say that? _wandered Shaine in horror. But then the girl jerked her head up at him, and then said. "You."

"Um," mumbled Shaine, his mind going into Let's-Freeze-And-Lose-All-Neuron-Control mode. "Yeah… I just-"

"Well, pick it up, and I'll teach you some scales," said the girl. "I'm Brazen, baritone section leader, except that Gould didn't show up today, I'm stuck teaching the newbies. Figures. Well, pick it up!" she ordered Shaine, who, unused to such bold behavior (the low brass, his usual family, were rather mellow) quickly scampered to it, and picked it up, shocked a bit at the weight. His parents had let him mess around a bit on theirs, but they were older and differently shaped. The instruments of old were created by the family, and used throughout the generations- this Day of Choosing was fairly new in large groups like this.

"Fit your mouth over the mouthpiece- no, move your lips a bit to the left, that's right- don't grimace, it doesn't help- wipe that frown off, NOW-"

And that was how Shaine met Brazen, and that day was the catalyst for what would be spoken about for many seasons to come.

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Somewhere over in another section of the low brass tryouts, Taen was clasping her trombone to her chest, afraid to let anyone else get a hold of it. Something about it- from the dent in the slide to the hand-worn brass sheen on the much-handled parts. Something about it… Taen stroked a particularly faded part with a slim mocha finger and hummed a little tune. This first season, she felt, would be interesting.

"Taen, are you sure you want to do this?" asked her mother, walking over to her. A thin, tall woman with a delicate look about her, Whillow looked like her daughter down to a tee- except for her extremely wispy mood, constantly wavering. Taen was often more sure in her attitude, and this decision she was about to make was definite. "I wish you could have been a Fluteling like me-"

"I'm sure, Mother," said Taen, and with that, shouldered the trombone and began to look for the section leader to tell them that they would have another person in their ranks.

A small, wraithlike figure slipped in the group of loudly playing trumpets, searching for- yes! The tall figure of Cornett, the section leader of the trumpets. Newly bestowed this honor, he looked a bit unsure of himself as he told the newbies how to play whilst marching, and to keep their necks steady as their mouths created music.

One of the smallest of the members of the new Brass members, Maelt Cadet was also one of the fastest- he could duck, dodge, and twist his way around some of the dangers of where he lived (such as falling rocks and siblings).

This quickness also allowed him to play speedily and catch onto new melodies with ease. With nearly-translucent black hair and a pale, ghostly face, with darting eyes, Maelt was unusual among the proud, straight-backed and steady-footed. But when his brother had taught him the trumpet, something about it made him stand a little taller, be a little brighter- and he began to _perform_.

It was time for the newbies to gather and talk to each other about the day, and connect a little during the lunch break. Bolt and Blayde, of course, could not be parted from their weapons; the sabre and rifle rested in their laps as they munched on the usual guard food fare- light fruits, sweet honey, and clear water in small canisters. Taen joined them, noting that they ate little and preferred to share with each other, absorbed in their own small world. "How did it go?" she asked, setting down her trombone gently in the springy grass and unpacking her lunch of heavily grained bread, thick meat slices, and mountain-well drawn water.

"Alright," they chorused, and then grinned. "We made weapon line!"

"Is anyone sitting here?" asked a hesitant voice, and the three to-be marchers looked up to see a copper-haired boy with shockingly clear brown eyes looking down on them.

"Nah, come on in," said Taen cheerfully, and scooted over a bit to give him a clump of soft grass to sit in. "What do you play?"

"I'm learning the euphonium," he replied, still a little cautious, but settling down into the small group. "Uh, you?" Still getting used to the whole talking-to-others-thing, but catching on slowly.

"Rifle," smiled Bolt, proudly showing off her new weapon.

"Sabre," said Blayde at the same time, twisting it a bit in his hand. The light gleamed off the new tape, and the hilt sparkled.

"Trombone," added Taen. It was silent after that, the new marchers munching on their food, offering little bits every so often to the other people. There was a relaxed atmosphere of the four, all them knowing they were new but confident enough to make jokes or laugh a bit.

Then a shade of darkness passed them, and Bolt caught the figure of a boy drifting among a patch of bushes marking the edge of the field. "Hey!" she called. "Who are you?"

A minute passed, and then Maelt stepped out, his new trombone clasped to his side tightly. "Why?" he asked suspiciously, twitching a bit. Not a malicious question, just nervous, curious.

"We need a person to make the group uneven," she replied, and smiled widely, already a performer at heart.

Maelt stepped over the bushes and sat down but did not eat, not having any food with him, but just looked down awkwardly at his trumpet and said nothing.

"What do you think of The Great Ones?" asked Shaine to break the silence. This usually wasn't his forte, but someone had to say something.

"They seem so strong- it's really different," mused Taen. "But they'll be good leaders, from what I've heard."

This kind of talk continued for a while, only broken for a moment when Blayde left to go practice his sabre by himself, Bolt choosing to stay with her new friends (which was odd, since she usually was tied close to her brother, but the prospect of meeting new people was too great for her).

It was only an hour later, perhaps, when a high-pitched scream came from someone, and everyone fell silent. Drums stopped beating, and so it seemed, the marchers hearts.

A girl stumbled over some bushes off the edge of the field, a broken, warped piece of _something_ in her hands. She opened her hands, tripping further, to reveal a saxophone- but was pierced through the middle, and then twisted around and around, sickeningly bent in a wicked sense of sadism.

"I- I-" she stammered, tears beginning to fleck at the ends of her eyes. "_How?"_

One of the trumpet section leaders stepped forward, gently taking it from her hands. Calmly, he observed it from all sides, and then turned his face towards Sabe, who was coolly standing away. "It was a sabre."

"Impossible." Her voice was flat of emotion, the word shot out as if from a shotgun. "No Guard member would do that."

"You have no love of music like we do. It wouldn't kill you to hurt an instrument," spat out a furious brass player.

Sabe whirled on him. "Don't you _dare_ say that," she hissed. "We love the music as much as you do. How else do we spin? To what?" Her grip on her flag tightened, and Bolt saw her jaw twitch.

"No self-respecting Guardie would do that," murmured Rifley, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I remember what it was like to have an instrument. No one would do that."

Taen fleetingly wondered why Rifely had switched to guard, and what she played, but was quickly distracted by what happened next.

"_Him_," snarled a clarinet, and eyes turned towards her voice and finger.

Blayde came walking through the bushes, sabre clasped in his hand. Bewildered, he looked around. "What?"

The saxophone was thrust into his hands by the trumpet section leader. "Your work?"

"What happened to this?" gasped Blayde in horror, turning it over and over in his hands. "Wait- what? What do you mean? You think _I_- No!" he whispered, his voice shaking. "No!"

"He's lying!" cried the girl who had brought the saxophone here. "I found it back in the Woodwind forest, just lying on a tree stump- he would have had plenty of chance with _that_!" she seemed to spit out the word, unable to say 'sabre'.

The Great Ones had been called by then, and they came over, and a hush fell over the band. What would they say?

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A/N CLIFFY AND PLOT! OMIGOSH! Amazing, huh? Well, we've got charries, plot, a few mysteries (Rifley's past, Maelt's curious traits, all will play in the plot.) I have nothing against saxophones, I rather like them, that's why I chose one to be the victim, it will be important later.

Review please! And if you have ideas, state them, I might use them if they fit in with my current plans.


	3. Treading the Threaded Needle

A/N Well, my band went to Regionals, but got Silver and isn't going to state… (we got Gold the last 3 contests, and I thought the band performed amazingly, so I don't know what happened…) But yeah, that would explain a note of sadness in my writing for this chapter. But hey! New chapter:D

(Treading the Threaded Needle)

Blayde watched with a note of panic in his chest, his heart beating the tattoo of a frantic drummer. The head of the Great Ones stepped out of rank with the other two, and looked directly at the saxophone girl, named Riffa. "Tell me the story." His voice was low, confident and calm. This seemed to quell the girl a bit from her former anxiety, and she began to speak.

"I went to go get a new reed, because mine had shattered from an accident earlier." She neglected to mention what accident. "I left my saxophone on the stump because I didn't want to drop it in the undergrowth and get her dirty." People often referred to their instruments with genders, names, and the like, to make the bond closer. However, this bond turned on the player when such occurrences as this happened, and the bond was broken in tragedy.

"I came back with some new reeds twenty minutes later when I saw it there- just- there-" and with that, Riffa began to cry, gripping the instrument, tears staining the lovely, horrible, twisted brass. "_How_?" she whispered.

The Great One then turned to the trumpet section leader who had declared the wound a sabre's work. "I heard you have an idea of how this happened?" He knew exactly what Drillen had said, but was clarifying for everybody.

"Look at how much that's twisted, the puncture, the sharp edges- it's not hard," snarled Drillen. "All I need to hear is a motive and we're finished on this!"

"Let me see her," gently said the Head Great One, and Riffa, still weeping, handed her over, a saxophone friend sliding up and putting a comforting arm around her.

"I agree. This was done by a sabre," said the Head Great One after a short contemplation. "But we cannot accuse anybody until there has been a fair investigation."

"Easy, pick out the sabres and question them," Drillen said, his eyes boring into Blayde's, who gripped his weapon tightly and looked down. Bolt, who had worked her way to her brother during this time, came up to him and glared at Drillen, matching fiery gazes.

"None of our sabres would have done that," protested Rifley, feeling fearful for Blayde, but maintaining a serene, strong face. That is part of performing- not showing what's really going on in your mind whilst outside, you show them what they want.

"Prove it. Let's see his sabre." Drillen shot the words out across the field in a challenge.

Blayde stepped back. "You can't take it from me," he said, stammering a bit but taking a leaf out of Rifley's book and adding a confident tone to his voice.

Maelt, Taen, and Shaine had watched this battle of words, a bit nervous for their friend, eyes trailing the various players in this drama.

"Blayde doesn't seem like the kind of person to do that," murmured Shaine to Taen and Maelt.

"I agree," said Taen softly, and Maelt nodded in agreement. But they had no say in this, and continued to watch and silently hope things ended soon. Although the bonds between the marchers was newly formed, it solidified quickly.

A rumble of anger had spread throughout the band, new marchers and old, parents and children. Caeytch and Slyde had worked their way to the front, but could do nothing to help their son.

"We can decide nothing now," said Head Drum Major, who then turned away. "It is almost time to leave for the day anyhow. Return tomorrow an hour after sunrise- it is our first practice!"

A cheer, despite the mood, had risen up in the crowd, and Riffa's friend had managed to cheer her up a bit with a promise of a new saxophone by tomorrow, and a proper funeral for her ruined one. However, there were still some harsh glares thrown Blayde's way, but after Sabe returned the dirty looks with well-placed ones of her own.

"Ignore them," she murmured lowly to Blayde. "We never have and never will be on good terms with them, and it's best we're left on our own. Our only connection is the music- remember the music." With that, she gave him a quick shoulder hug and left to speak to Rifley, who now the 'performance' was over, had a troubled and slightly mournful look on her face.

Bolt went up to Blayde and in a hushed but furor-filled murmur, said, "I know you didn't do it."

And for that moment, to Blayde, that was the only opinion that mattered.

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The next day was perfect for marching- a bit overcast, not cold but not burning hot either. The marchers arrived in their sections, warming up, joking, and generally enjoying the much happier atmosphere than yesterday.

Shaine was talking to Brazen about fingering, when she said out of nowhere, "What do you think of the whole saxophone scandal?"

Shaine abruptly stopped trying to figure out a particularly difficult trill, confused. "What?"

"Well, you were with the culprit yesterday," lazily said Brazen, scrubbing a bit of dirt off the bell of her baritone.

"He is _not_ guilty," snapped Shaine, and then realized how harsh he sounded. "Sorry, but-"

"It's fine, I just said that to get you a bit riled," admitted Brazen, grinning a bit around her mouthpiece that she was trying out. "Hm, this tastes funny. Odd."

"Why get me riled?" asked Shaine, not mad but curious.

"Part of performing is emotion- you're ecstatic about your show, or you're mourning for your show. Whatever the music is, you are, alright?" she said. "Right now, the music is mystery, anger, injustice- watch me go on." She tilted her baritone and inspected inside the bell while Shaine pondered this.

Marching band wasn't just learning about stepping in time, was it?

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Maelt was catching on quickly to how to back march and touch-stop-go, much faster than the other newbies, and quickly became bored, instead making up tunes in his mind and wondering how his family was doing- no. Don't think about that. Just march.

It wasn't until lunch break, and the group- Bolt, Blayde, Shaine, Taen, and himself met and sat down did they finally take a breather. Sweaty, thinking about all they had learned, and musing on the come-what-may, it was silent for a while.

"The music this year is interesting," Taen said after finishing her sandwich and apple. "A lot faster and… angrier, it seems."

"That's just how it's going to start off. It's supposed to be about a tornado- the coming storm, the actual event, the horror afterwards, and then the recovery," explained Shaine. "Brazen told me earlier. Evidently it was written during an actual twister that happened to one of the musicians, so it's kind of cool."

"The work to it's pretty fast too- lots of furious movements and the like," mused Blayde. "But it's really fun."

"The rifle work is amazing, although the ballad is going to be all flag," added in Bolt. "So I won't get as much time on rifle."

"Isn't Rifley your teacher?" asked Taen, who knew a little bit more about the guard since she had made friends with the twins.

"Yeah, but sometimes, I catch her looking at the band and getting kind of sad. Especially the clarinets."

Maelt looked troubled for a minute, but said nothing. It wasn't until about fifteen minutes later after chitchat and marching advice to the others ("It's easier if you flex your feet every few minutes after a lot of marching" or "look up, it makes the section leaders think you know what you're doing").

But then something split the breezy chatter, and Reid Junior, a clarinet, ran up to the Head Great One, and whispered something. Bolt heard a bit of it- something about "music" and "shadows" and "gone".

But she was sure she'd find out later. But little did she know, perhaps it was better if she didn't.

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A/N I've got a mini-plot going, but add in your stuff too. As always, review please! I like hearing about my story and marching band!


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